Fatigued
by TomatoBisque
Summary: His purse was heavy enough for a night amongst the whores of the brothel, but he didn't seek that sort of comfort this evening. Still, without any other direction, his hazy mind could only think of the warmth of a bed and another person's skin. Ezio/Leo


There was something about a rainy night in Venice that merited peace. Warm light spilled onto the wet cobblestones as steam rose from the stinking canals; flames struggled in lanterns against the damp, and laughter of drunken guards and courtesans could be heard all through the streets.

Ezio drudged passed brothels and businesses, some shutting down for the night whilst others only began to open their doors to the tired workers. His heavy armour weighed him down as the wetness began to seep through his garments. Smells and sounds overpowered his extraordinary senses, his tired eyes ever alert toward any sign of possible danger. His leather greaves dragged his feet down, causing his walking to become sloppy – unlike his usual grace, he splashed untidily down the road, and turned abruptly in an attempt to make a soundless escape from any straggling public. His efforts were unnecessary as the night guards had not yet taken over their shift. The Auditore knew he must find some sort of refuge in the small window of time it took for the guards to be alert to his notorious presence once more.

Tipping his hood down as to encourage the rain to drip to the dirty streets below, Ezio pushed forward with no destination in mind. He had no qualms with finding a hay bale to catch a few hours rest in on a dry night, but even in mild rain that proved to be rather cold and more tiring than restful. His purse was heavy enough for a night amongst the whores of the brothel, but he didn't seek that sort of comfort this evening. Still, without any other direction, his hazy mind could only think of the warmth of a bed and another person's skin.

A few steps later, his decision was clear. Many brothels would be thick with guards this night, but they would be too distracted to notice any entries through second story windows. Ezio made his mind up as to which business to enter, and quietly, yet efficiently, made his way up the slippery wall and found all the windows locked. It would be no difficulty to break the window and let himself in, but that would be more damaging to his reputation than he would allow. With an exasperated sigh, the assassin heaved himself up on to the roof tops and made a quiet getaway, lurking through alleyways and meandering across the city to his only other known place of refuge.

"What a strong man you must be!"

Ezio paid little attention to the cat calls of the street walkers. He felt a twang of pity for the girls having to stand in this weather in their ill fitting clothing, but not enough to ask for their services. One girl in particular, rather young, made a grab for Ezio's hand as he walked by. She gave him a pleading look along with a seductive smile. Being stopped for a moment by the piteous scene before him, Ezio offered a small smile back and a few coins before heading on his way once more.

With a few more exhausting city blocks covered, and the smell of the day's rotten fish from the market still rising, he knew he was close. The rain and mist were thick and his clothing long soaked underneath his armour. Ezio managed his way to the entrance of his closest companion and knocked heavily on the door. A few moments without answer and he knocked again, this time grasping the handle and allowing himself in.

"Leonardo!" he called, not feeling the slightest remorse for his friend's privacy. "Leonardo, it is Ezio… could you offer a roof for tonight? Leona-"

It appeared that Leonardo was quite unconscious, sprawled over his work desk amongst many papers. The young artist was drooling slightly, his hands blackened from charcoal that had long since disintegrated.

The assassin leaned over the artist, placing a leather gloved hand over his friends back, lightly shaking his shoulder. Leonardo roused, in a slight daze, until his cerulean eyes focused and recognized the figure standing before him.

"Porco Cane! Ezio… who let you in?"

"I let myself in. You've mentioned before that I am always welcomed in your workshop, friend."

Wiping the last bit of drowsiness from his eyes, Leonardo stood up and placed a reassuring hand upon Ezio's broad shoulder, "I suppose you are right, of course. Welcome then, pezzo di merda, make yourself at home."

Ezio allowed himself a hearty laugh before hugging his sleepy friend. "Apologies, Leonardo, it appears you've worked yourself to sleep, but so have I. Shall we have a drink?"

"You will drink me out of house and home, Ezio di Auditore," Leonardo smiled. "But it is good to have your company every few months or so."

The artist stretched his back and roamed toward the corner of his shop, while Ezio clambered up the ladder reaching to the second story loft. He came across Leonardo's sleeping quarters and began undoing the buckles and removing the various straps that held his complicated armour in place on his body. He could hear in the distance that Leonardo was wandering toward him; he paid little mind until the clanking of goblets against a wooden desk drew his attention. Soon an extra pair of hands was helping him remove his weaponry, and once he was cleared of the metal burden, Leonardo stood before him and removed Ezio's hood.

"Your face, Ezio, is something I have not seen in a long time." A soft smile was exchanged between them.

"Drinks?" Ezio inquired. Without further delay, the men had settled into soft chairs next to Leonardo's bed with their goblets in hand, exchanging words about the past few weeks work and findings.

Leaning forward in his seat, his drink long since forgotten amidst the seriousness of the conversation, Leonardo said with some earnest, "And of the codex pages, Ezio? I have been itching to decipher some."

"One man can only do so much, Leonardo. I assure you I am doing the best that I can," Ezio replied with some delay.

A quizzical expression came across Leonardo's face as he studied the man before him. "It is very unlike you to say as such."

The candles were burning low late into the night, the rain still dripping endlessly into the ocean outside. The smell of paint and fire wafted through the small space. Ezio stared somewhat absentmindedly ahead, chewing on his thoughts while his friend waited for a response.

"I suppose you could say that I am fatigued," he replied after some time. He was tired, indeed, but not as much physically as he was mentally. His work was never boring, but it was an emotional burden. Day after day his heart felt emptier.

"Should we retire then, my friend?"

Another silence, this time cut short by the sudden movement of a suddenly impatient Leonardo. Ezio was caught by surprise by Leonardo's quick boost of energy, but his weakened and tired senses caused quite the delayed reaction. The artist had moved from his chair to Ezio's, his hands placed over the arm rests, but underneath the assassin's forearms. Upon his face was an expression of interest, which was somewhat glazed over with weariness and the effects of drink.

"You and I are very similar men, Ezio. Different in many ways, but similar nonetheless."

The artist's face merely inches from his own, Ezio swallowed his brief moment of shock and assessed the motives of his comrade.

Reaching up and placing a hand upon Leonardo's shoulder, Ezio said with a reassuring voice, "We are both fatigued. Our work is challenging and our periods of rest never quite long enough. We should retire, indeed."

Still staring intently at the face of the killer, Leonardo somewhat reluctantly allowed Ezio to rise from his seat and, still with his hand upon Leonardo's shoulder, direct the artist to his bed. Ezio pulled off his layers of damp clothing, setting them to rest over a nearby ledge, close to his discarded armour. Once mostly bare, he turned his attention to Leonardo, and stood him up to help his friend strip of his day clothes.

"I think you work too much, Leonardo," he said with a small laugh. A reluctant grin was returned.

"The same could be said for you," the artist replied. When both men were in a satisfactory state of undress, there was a moment of quiet awkwardness. Both were still a bit drunk, and the unusual conversation they'd had still hung over their heads. Ezio considered himself a smart man, but his intelligence paled in comparison to Leonardo's. He couldn't help but be buried in his thoughts, trying to understand exactly how Leonardo thought they were 'similar'.

"Where would you have me sleep, friend?" asked Ezio tentatively. Leonardo lifted his head with much consideration and choked out sputtered words that were inaudible.

"My bed is the only bed, I meant to say," he quickly corrected himself. The artist glanced up at Ezio who stood before him, hoping that he could find the chance to touch the body he so admired. Riddled with scars and bruises, with fresh wounds and old, this battered should-be corpse always taunted Leonardo. Oh the burning desire just to examine and touch the beautiful anatomy of his friend, the rippling muscles amongst the olive skin. All of this stood before Leonardo in the flickering, fading candle light. His hands itched to grab Ezio's hips, to feel every inch of his chest and torso, legs, thighs, groin, he just wanted to feel _everything_.

Ezio saw a lonely young courtesan reflected in his friend's expression. That same piteous look that twanged the strings of the murderers heart only hours before now hit an even deeper note. Pure longing, without any confusion or guilt, this was a look Ezio was all too familiar with. Without as much as a thought, Ezio leaned forward and gently pushed Leonardo back onto the bed. Ezio's lips were slightly parted, his brow creased, a look of curiosity burned behind his eyes. Without hesitation, Leonardo touched his friends face, his lips, his cheeks, his hair, everything there was to touch, and the men pulled each other close, writhing together in a strange concoction of questioning and probing. Each man felt the other, neither before touching one so much like themselves. Leonardo examined and enjoyed the architecture of Ezio's body, and in turn, Ezio explored the curves of a male body.

His skin wasn't like a woman's. It was soft, yes, but there was an interesting texture to it, almost as if Ezio could feel the color. It was like touching a pleasant fabric, not silken like a woman, but rather coarse and thick. His hands were not broader than Ezio's, in fact his fingers were slender and flat, but the sinews and veins in the artist's overworked hands made for a strong grip for when the men's hands interlocked. Their lips met, like two fierce animals fighting for the same territory they ravaged each others mouths. Leonardo's neck was sensitive and even the softest kisses would allow a deep moan from the man, but Ezio chose to dive in and gently nip at Leonardo's neck, using a forceful grip to hold his friend down. The artist squirmed beneath the assassin, who was enjoying more pleasure from this interesting adventure than anything else.

They broke for a moment from their kissing and Ezio let out a few deep and husky breaths. Leonardo looked at the man on top of him with a questioning expression. It was as if the artisan were daring the killer to continue. No words were exchanged, but after ten years of friendship, none were needed. Ezio's hand gently guided Leonardo's slender fingers toward the waist band of his swelling trousers, and slipped them in. The young artist was hesitant to go further even with given permission. Ezio waited with a curious face which transformed into a deep smile of pleasure once Leonardo gripped the base of the Auditore's manhood. With deep, sweeping motions, the artist gently stroked, his breathing almost as shallow as Ezio's. Leonardo, with his left hand, pushed Ezio over to his side and clambered on top of him, leaning low over Ezio's body. Ezio cupped Leonardo's head in his wide hand while Leonardo continued to perform on Ezio's demanding organ. Their breathing was deep and gruff, kisses were exchanged and Ezio allowed a small moan and a deep sigh once he had reached his climax. Leonardo had skilfully caught most of the assassin's seed in his own hand, and carefully wiped the rest up, not hesitating in tasting what was gripped in his palm.

"Clean that up, Leonardo, have you not a cloth anywhere?" Ezio asked, his voice raspy and exhausted with satisfaction.

Leonardo wiped his hand clean on an old rag nearby and crawled next to Ezio, not hesitating in climbing into the young mans arms. Ezio, now exhausted beyond any point of return, gazed at Leonardo for a moment before allowing his heavy eyes to shut. For an instant, before losing consciousness, Ezio went over the preceding situation in his mind. He could not find any flaw.

e past few weeks work and findings.

, the men had settled into soft chairs with their goblets in hand, exchanging words about t


End file.
